


Defile

by king_particle



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Prolapse, Anal Sex, Blood, Choking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Repatration, Snuff, Tentacles, just a bit, what do I even tag this jfc, wow haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_particle/pseuds/king_particle
Summary: Higgs n some tentacles ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Defile

**Author's Note:**

> Lol *leaves this here and runs*

Higgs can’t stop the tentacle of thick tar pushing into him, unprepared, nor can he stop the broken scream that comes from him. 

He tries to pull away, wiggle, bite the one that slips into his mouth but— but it’s  _ useless _ , he can’t move a fucking inch. The one in his ass slips deeper and deeper, winding through his intestines until his stomach bulges out under his torn uniform. It stretches him out, wiggling and squirming it’s way ever deeper, prying open muscles that try in vain to expel the other-worldly creature. 

The one in his mouth jabs itself down his gullet until he gags loudly, entire body rocking with heaves. 

He kicks out, heel of his boot hitting the tentacle inside him, doing fuck all but rocking it and making it thrust deeper into him. He screams, sound caught behind the limb in his mouth. Tar fucking  _ hurts,  _ burns against where he’s been torn, chiralium seeping into him, mind going a bit hazy. 

No, no. This is how they get him, every damn time. Hook him on chiralium enough that he loses his grip on reality and fucking wreck him, saying Higgs isn’t gutted and killed in the process. The tentacle lodged down his throat squirms, makes him heave again. He clenches hard down on the one in his ass. His abdomen cramps, painfully full as the tentacle moves in and out of him, an inch at a time, deeper each thrust. 

He’s suspended in the air, bound tight enough bruises will surely form. He’s got no way to get free. 

He swears the damn thing is— it has to be in his lower intestines by now, and isn’t  _ that _ just an image? Muscles tensing with another full bodied gag, it thrusts deeply again, stretching some part of him  _ way _ too far. 

He can’t breath, lungs burning as his throat is stretched out. He can taste the tar and chiralium, sharp and disgusting on his tongue, the black sludge staining each corner of his mouth, between his teeth. 

His gnawing on the tentacle in his mouth grows weak with his suffocation, the spasms of his guts stealing what little oxygen is left in his brain. His chest expands pointlessly, heartbeat so loud in his ears. He feels kinda tingly, his stomach feeling overly full. Fingertips and toes already numb by the time darkness dances at the edges of his vision. He won’t die by being gutted— unless something happens real fast— just good ol suffocation. 

His head hurts more than his stretched-thin intestines, though not by much. Higgs thinks that looking right at the midday sun with a migraine would hurt less. His ribs hurt with the way his body still tries to suck in air, inadvertently just stuffing the tentacle further into his stomach. 

It feels like an eternity, but he  _ does _ die. Course, he wouldn’t be so lucky as to die for good. His poor consciousness is dumped into the Seam as his body is ravaged back in the real world. 

He contemplates taking his time returning, but he hates the Seam enough to find himself as best he can, always feeling like if he stays too long he might just stay for good. 

He cringes at the sight of himself, out in the vast expanse of the tar lake, accompanied by the dead holding him down and multiple tentacles stuffing him full. 

Most of his suit is torn away, which he’s glad he was only wearing his porting uniform, considerably easier to get another of. He can see the grotesque sight of his stomach bulged out as the thick tentacle forces itself deeper. It’s— it’s  _ really _ something to see himself in this state, throat stuffed impossibly full, skin starting to go pale by now. From this angle he can’t see much of his face, hanging limply and a bit upside down, but it's soaked in tar, cheeks bulged out as the thing oozes the black sludge. The skin stretched thin over his belly looks almost bruised, the stark black of the tentacle almost visible through the haze of the Seam. 

Then— then the tentacle pulls out completely, thick, viscous tar tinted red dripping to the dry earth below, and because there’s suddenly nothing stuffing his body full he- his guts basically just  _ fall out, _ thick wet prolapse slopping out of his ruined hole as his guts expel a bout of tar and what-not. Higgs curls into himself in aroused horror. Higgs didn’t feel a thing but.. he wishes he could, wished he’d repatriated in time to feel it. 

Higgs doesn’t think he’d be able to get hard in the Seam, doesn’t think he could feel much of anything here, but if he could he’d spend however long just watching himself be used. 

He watches the tentacle rub against the fleshy protrusion, now  _ really _ wishing he had repatriated. He watches the tentacle previously feeling up his  _ insides-turned-outsides, _ rubbing the tip between the fleshy folds there,before jamming itself back inside, twelve inches barely anything before continuing to work itself deeper. The sight of the tentacle as it wiggles its way deeper is too hot, and Higgs wishes so much that he had his camera for this moment. 

It’s not like he couldn't recreate it… he lets his Ha and Ka reconnect as he swims closer. 

  
  
  


Repatriating is just as fun as dying, he realizes, multiple waves of uncomfortableness washing over him. He’s still bound— though dazed enough that he doesn’t remember by what— and he tugs uselessly before more or less just puking up loads of tar over himself, further soaking his face and hair, and now all over his front. He isn’t actually that bound, not suspended in the air anymore, able to move his arms and legs despite tentacles still tight around him. 

“Disgusting,” he tries to say, throat raw and coated in tar. 

He moves to sit up before falling back down with a sudden spasm, some animalistic noise falling from him. 

The tentacle in his ass is  _ still there _ , lodged ever deep in his now unstretched intestines, filling him far too full. He cries, heaves and writhes, the thing staying deep inside him. He gets on his knees, ass raised in the air as he wraps his arms around himself, belly rolling under his palms. 

The tentacle thrusts just barely deeper, yet it feels like— well it feels like a giant tentacle is currently stuffed in his ass. 

It  _ hurts _ , hurts so much as his body continues to try to force it out, muscles spasming and tensing and cramping. He’s crying, not even hard as his ruined hole spreads wide around the limb. 

_ He’s gonna die again, _ he thinks with a smile as the tentacles tighten around his arms and legs again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos n comments welcome and heavily encourage me to write more filthy nonsense


End file.
